


By Happenstance

by RainyAnimeAddict



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, They knew each other before, bossom buddies ;), chance encounters, so are we gonna talk about how Mummy Holmes a whole character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyAnimeAddict/pseuds/RainyAnimeAddict
Summary: In the summer of '93, the streets of Paris go up in smoke.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 9





	By Happenstance

Ever since Sherlock could remember Paris was the land of grandmere and frivolous sentimental exploits. From spending flagrant amounts of money of perfume that filled her with nostalgia or stealing him away from his stuffed up family in search of the best chocolate filled croissant, Sherlock breathed in the streets of Paris from a young age. Now Paris would never be the love of his life like darling London, however, it would always hold a special place in his heart more as a mistress than anything.

It was the summer of ‘93 and he was the age where adults seemed to constantly be shocked from his growth of a baby to a “little man”. He was going on his last years of secondary and would have been on his way to finishing his education in university if not for the protests of his beloved late grandmere. He was coerced by Mycroft to spend what would presumably be the last summer in Paris out of sentiment. A little ode to grandmere if you will. He thought this to be one of the most inane and staged things his family has ever done. As most things were done in his family for aesthetic reasons he doubted that the death of his father’s mother would have changed anything. The minute the hit the French soil, Mycroft and his father were rushed into wherever their political “duties” rushed them and he was sure his mother had already made her way towards a university that will be where she spent the majority of her time in and out of work seeing as giving lectures and university boys were more important than her own boys. They will all come together for a family dinner at the end of the trip to distribute assets as the big finish. Alas, when they return to their stifling habitats in the Queen country then can recall their time reconnecting with grandmere in some heartwarming story they picked up from a movie being shown on the way back. However unlike his neanderthal filled family, he actually intended to honor grandmere exactly how she intended, by finding the strongest tobacco he can consume. While grandmere never approved of his less than glamorous extracular activities, she always appreciated quality.

However, his venture would be interrupted on the third day, 20 cigarettes in (he sees no reason to cease his indulgence in self destruction, he might as well get it over with before humanity does it for him) by a:

“You know those things kill ya?”

He turns to see a shorter man with ruffled brown tresses. “Are you even old enough to be drinking that?” he shoots back at his intruder.  
“I’ll have you know I am 18 years-”

“Please, you are barely 16 years of age and I would appreciate it if you don’t insult me by try and lying so horribly about it.” he snapped. “Following your brother’s footsteps of being an alcoholic is unbecoming and very much unlikely if you cant even stand a drink that is more fruit juice than alcohol.”

“Well,” the sandy haired boy huffed, “it’s unbecoming to be an arsehole and here we are.” He tosses his can in the bin. “But you are right, alcohol is truly shit- Hey how did you know about Harry?”

As he takes another drag and rattles off about his phone inscribed with Harry Watson, the scratched phone port, his second hand uniform, poor state of his shoes, calloused hands, muscled body, Scottish accent, and how he’s probably traveling through sponsorship of some kind. He expects to be left, hell even roughed up a bit but instead he’s met with an incredulous expression.

“Brilliant,” the boy breathes, and the way he looks at Sherlock, like he’s the most brilliant person to have walked is more satisfying then the thrill he gets from chasing criminals and skipping school and sure as hell more comforting than the cigarettes that will surely put him in the ground if his disregard for his life doesn’t kill him first.

“John Watson and you are?”

“Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes.” and damn does he throw in a wink for good measure and casually run his hair through his curly locks. While he is by no means vain (as if he would ever admit otherwise), he is confident in his charms and is unsurprised when the bo- when John’s cheeks tint in the sultry sun.

“Well, Sherlock,” he purrs, “as I’m free all day, have you got any plans?”

* * *

Sherlock led John throughout the torturous turns that make up the wondrous Paris. Sometimes, Sherlock would have to wait until John was finished with practice or John would wait until Sherlock’s duties were fulfilled and then they would spend the nights following nothing but their thoughts and shared love of a thrill. And that’s how Sherlock spends the day and the one after, and the one after that, until it was time for John to return to his little suburb and him to return to the stuffy, carefully constructed set which was his life.

On the last day, taking a page out of his grandmere’s book, he links his arm that is not occupied with holding a cigarette, and links it through John’s as they walk through a bridge. However, he is abruptly stopped by the boy besides him. Sherlock, blowing the rest of his smoke and stubbing it out with his toe, lifts an inquiring eyebrow.

“Do you think we will ever see each other again?” John asks him, pensive as if he expects to find an answer within his own mind instead of from Sherlock’s. “I mean, in all my life I haven’t had the slightest chance at finding a friendship like ours...perhaps all this was just pure happenstance. ”

“Darling Watson,” he starts using the boy’s surname with a fondness. Sherlock grabs John and pulls him into a tight embrace, he continues, “out of the 5.538 billion people in the world, we just happened to meet.” John scrunches his nose in a worrying but adorable manner.

Sherlock tightness their embrace, “However, I do not think our meeting is a pure coincidence...afterall the universe is rarely that lazy.”

* * *

Sherlock would never see John again. Not until a retired army doctor with a psychosomatic limp makes his way into the halls of the St. Bart's morgue.

**Author's Note:**

> Allo loves! First and foremost, thank you guys for reading! If you have any comments on my writing/grammar please share! (I hope you enjoy, also here is the playlist I wrote to -----which is "a dark academia playlist to write to" by the channel Golden Lanni https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQMNer3PwUc ) 
> 
> P.s I know the current population is 7 billion something but in '93 it was 5 billion something in case y'all caught that. ;)


End file.
